


Just Words

by orphan_account



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Future, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-15
Updated: 2006-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-27 02:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12071589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Words are unreliable: they give hope, but they’re nothing but illusion. You don’t trust words. Anyone can speak them.





	Just Words

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

_Words._

_Words, just words._

The silence is heavy, the cracking of the phone-line irritating.

_Don't say it. Don't say it._

"I love you, Brian."

_Don't._

"Brian?"

"Don't"

_I have to read it in your eyes._

"…what?"

"Don't say it."

_This way, it scares me._

"What?!"

_I don't trust it. I don't believe in words._

"…nothing."

_Everything._

"Brian, what is it?"

"Nothing! Let it go!"

_Suffocating._

"I won't let it go! You've been acting weird since the beginning of this phone call! You've barely said a word! I know you miss me, I miss you too, and I'm sorry I stood you up, but this week has been so full I really can't co-"

"I told you it's nothing! Christ! I'll survive! I sure don't lack holes to fuck! Who the fuck cares!"

_Tired, I'm so tired._

"…Brian, why are you doing this?"

_I want to kiss you, I want you to hold me tight, hide my face in your neck. If I can't see you…_

"Brian, we'll see each other next week, this can't be the problem."

_Only if I can see you face to face…_

"Brian."

_Only then I can believe it._

"Brian, we made a promise to each other! We agreed that the only way to keep things going as long as I'm in New York is to talk! Not to hold anything back! I can't read your mind, but it's obvious something's wrong! Talk to me!"

_I can't._

"I can't, Justin."

"Brian!"

"I can't do this anymore."

"Brian? Brian wai-"

*click*

\---

I love you.

Words.

Just words.

A bottle of Jim Beam in hand, your gaze lost. Hours pass, the ray of sunshine filtering through the window traces an arc on the hardwood floor. It crosses the loft. Empty. The phone unplugged, the door locked. You don't want to see anyone. Alone with your thoughts.

Words don't fill spaces.

They don't keep company.

They don't warrant anything.

Too often, they cover lies.

Hide intentions.

In the end, you're alone with your silence.

Words are unreliable.

They give hope.

But they're nothing but illusion. 

You don't trust words. Anyone can speak them.

\---

You're ten. Attending Mass with your mother. You can barely stay seated. Your father has a new belt, rigid leather, the buckle edged, metallic. You only hope your new white shirt won't get dirty with the blood from your wounds.

You pray along with everybody else.

It's automatic, you have lost faith a long time ago. Your prayers haven't been answered in a long time. You go along with it only to avoid the belt, as much as you can.

Empty words. Lost to the wind.

After the service, she introduces you to the priest.

"This is Brian, my second born."

And last. You shouldn't have been born in the first place. They've taken good care to stick it into your head.

"He's quite clever, the first in his class."

Not that it spares you the belt.

"We've bought him a new shirt, only to wear at church."

The long sleeves cover your wrists. All the better to hide the bruises.

"Though we don't have much money, you know how it is…"

You wear an old pair of your father's shoes, your school books are second hand, you've been using one single notebook, writing in all the blank spaces. But there's never lack of Mr. Sherry and Mr. Whiskey at home.

"I'm very proud of him."

She looks at your report cards, collects your drawings, pretends not to hear the noise coming from the very next room, the belt whipping, your screams and cries, the drunken groaning of your father.

"I love him very much."

Liar.

Liar.

\---

At fourteen, you're so desperately craving some sort of affection that you risk everything and throw yourself in the shower with your gym teacher. You let go of all the feelings and impulses fighting inside you. 

And he gives you affection. He says he gives you love.

"I love you, baby."

For months you meet him in secret, for months you drink up everything he says, finally you've found it, someone who cares about you.

"Some day I'm going to take you and we'll run away. Soon."

And you give, give, give everything you've got.

At the party at the end of the year, you find out he's married and has a baby girl, and he's transferring to another school in the summer.

Lies again.

Words again.

\---

You meet Michael when you're fourteen. Small, nerdy, comic-books lover. Gay. Like you. He makes you feel important, he makes you feel special, and in return you protect him, you help him pass his classes, you drag him into your world of wild and dangerous entertainments. He swears he's always going to be your best friend. The person who knows you best.

"I love you. Always have, always will."

You know he's convinced he's in love with you. You don't think it's possible. It can't be more than a crush, an infatuation. He doesn't know you. He only knows what you choose to show him, a façade that he worships. He doesn't love you. He doesn't know the real you. Nobody does.

And you know you should cut him loose, but you can't, because who else have you got? And you feel guilty, and you give, give, give as much as you can, everything but that. And he takes, he drains you, he grabs all he can. And as if it's your fault that you can't return his supposed feelings, he tries to disparage anything positive that happens to you, he's jealous of anyone who takes up your time, he tries to keep you forever in your teens, he's an enabler to all your bad habits, and all this makes you all the more dependent on him, because who else would want you? You can't break free.

Is this supposed to be love?

Words. Just words.

\---

Michael's mother Debbie is everything your mom isn't. Affectionate, exuberant, she welcomes you with open arms. Michael offers you his family, promises you it will be like your own from now on.

Words that let you hope.

But Michael always comes first.

"I love you, asshole."

Then why doesn't she help you? Why didn't she ever tell on your father?

Why does she always blame you for everything, without ever listening to your side? Why is she always all too ready to judge you?

Why can't she have some faith in you?

…why?

Words.

\---

Love is bullshit. It's a lie, a tale people tell themselves to feel less alone, to justify themselves. 

Words are the expression of it.

One night stands come and go, often more than once a night, to satisfy your needs without stupid and useless words.

Fucking is real. Simple. Direct. It makes you feel alive, desired, powerful.

Lonely? You're alone. You've always been and you always will be.

You don't need anyone.

You're the only one you need. You're the only one you've got.

You'll die alone.

Why tell yourself tales?

They're just words anyway.

\---

You meet Lindsay at college. Your last try at a normal life. The only woman you've ever been attracted to.

You remain friends, she gives you a son. You didn't want him at first. You're scared. You're terrified you'll be like your father. But she insists, insists, insists, and you give in. To thank her for her affection. You'll never be hetero and you'll never return her unresolved feelings, but this, this you can do.

And then you see Gus, and everything changes. You finally understand what it means to love unconditionally.

You'd do anything for Gus.

And Lindsay takes advantage of it. She promises you nothing is ever going to change your role in Gus's life. But in a painful and absurd give and take, she asks you to be more present and then keeps you at a distance. She encourages you to give up your rights but still asks for financial support. And you give, give, give everything she asks for, you don't want Gus to have to do without anything.

You understand you're not his parent, you know that has to be Mel, but you still do everything you can. You even keep your distance in fear of damaging him.

Michael is not asked to give up his rights to JR.

Michael is not asked for money, or to keep his distance.

You swallow.

Then Lindsay takes your son away to Canada. Pretending to ask your permission. You try to object, but you realize that you have no power; legally you're nobody to Gus. You give your blessing, fearing they'd move anyway and deny you visitation rights if you don't. Lindsay promises she won't let Gus forget you, that you'll be able to see him any time you want. That you'll always be his father.

It's been months since they've gone. They won't let you visit.

"He's adjusting, you'd only confuse him…"

"Don't be difficult, Brian."

And you know it's Mel, but Lindsay shouldn't have done this to you.

Michael and Ben go to Toronto at least once a month.

Believing in words doesn't get you anywhere.

\---

The night Gus is born, Justin comes into your life.

Blond, young, beautiful, exuberant Justin who turns you upside down with the strength of his feelings and his convictions. Who sweeps you off your feet, and little by little takes down all your walls, brings you to break all your self-imposed rules. Whose blue eyes seem to be able to read inside you. The first person who gives back as much as he takes, and more.

"I love you, Brian."

He makes you feel more alive than a thousand tricks.

He makes you feel things you didn't even believe existed.

And you start to convince yourself. You start to let yourself believe that maybe all those sensations, those feelings you mocked, exist and are part of you. That maybe you have a right to feel them. To give in to them. To Justin.

And then your first romantic gesture ends up in blood. And nearly causes the death of the only person you've ever lo-

No.

You can't admit it, not even to yourself.

You hang on, trying to help him every way you can, doing everything you can. But it's not enough. Justin's different, he doesn't smile like before, he's lost that overwhelming love for life, he…

He doesn't say those words anymore.

And you don't want to admit you miss them.

Justin is insecure, he needs to hear them, those words.

And you try, Christ you try. But you're terrified. You can't.

He goes to look for them elsewhere. And you let him go. No, you push him out the door, sure that everything you are and everything you've got will never be enough for him. After all, it was never enough for anyone.

You feel like your heart has been torn out of your chest.

But Justin comes back, grown, more mature, stronger. He says he realized he made a mistake. He says he understands now that words are not necessary. That you said "I love you" in a thousand different ways every day, gestures more precious than any word. He begs you for a second chance.

What else can you do?

Your heart starts beating again and for the first time you think you're happy, you let yourself be happy, and nothing, not ethic questions, politics, unemployment, illness, distance, nothing takes away this feeling, this certainty of being loved.

But it doesn't last. Because Justin keeps growing, becoming his own man, ever more self-assured and secure in what he wants. Monogamy, a husband… And you can't or you won't answer to his expectations. You're growing yourself, but you can't keep up with him. 

He leaves again. 

Yet again you let him go, breaking your heart with a wound that bleeds you out slowly, and you let yourself die inside, still convinced you're not the right person for him.  
Those words hang unsaid between you.

And then the bombing at Babylon. You almost lose him again. The ride in the car, the frantic calls to his cell, all a whirlwind until you can finally hold him in your arms, safe and sound. And you have to tell him. Michael, the hospital, the club, nothing counts, everything loses focus, the only thing that matters is getting back to him, to tell him, tell him, you have to tell him…

And those words roll out of your mouth without control, "I love you, I love you" and finally, finally you hold him, you kiss him, you're not letting him go, and other forbidden words escape, marriage, monogamy, and he doesn't believe you, he doesn't believe you but you have to convince him and you buy a house and you tell him everything, everything you feel, you take your chance on words and gestures both, and it works, he says yes, he says he will, he loves you back and everything happens so fast, and you're happy. You never believed it was possible to feel this happy, and you think here is my place, I found it, my family, he's it, he's my home…

And then everything comes tumbling down like a house of cards.

Because of two other words: New York.

He has to go. You'd never forgive each other if he gave up on this.

He says he'll be back. That you'll see each other all the time.

And for how much you want to believe it, you can't help but think of them as just words.  
And words always deluded and disappointed you.

\---

Now you're here. Alone. In your loft. The phone unplugged. For hours you sit still, a bottle of JB in hand, your gaze lost.

Thinking.

About words that are too much and words never said, treacherous words, honest words, empty, meaningful.

Somebody is trying to open the door. Away, away. Go away.

"Brian!"

The surprise makes you let go of the bottle.

"Brian, I know you're there!"

You stumble to the door.

"Brian, for fuck's sake, if you don't open this fucking door in the next ten seconds I swe-"

You pull it open.

Flaming blue eyes fix on yours.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You find it hard to breath.

He pushes past you and slams the door. Throws a duffle-bag on the floor. Starts pacing.  
"What the… what the fuck am I doing here?? I got on the first flight out, that's what I'm doing here! And I'm skipping two very important appointments and I had to dig into my emergency money to do that, because you terrified me to death with that call! God! You hung up on me and then I couldn't contact you! I was going out of my mind!"

He looks at you for the first time.

"God, Brian, what the hell's wrong?"

You're trembling.

He tries to touch your cheek.

You crumble.

Your legs fold on themselves and you fall to the floor, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. 

And you cry, and you scream and let out everything you've kept locked up inside you all your life.

And Justin is there. He doesn't let you fall, he grabs you and hugs you, and you cry, cry, cry hiding your face in his chest, and you hold on to him like he's the anchor, the only thing keeping you from going completely mad. He holds you, he caresses you, he talks to you gently, a lot of sweet nothings that you know are just words but you've always wished to hear them, words like "Everything is going to be alright, I'm here, I've got you."

You find yourself in bed, and you can't remember how you got there. You don't know how much time has passed, but the sun has gone down and the shadows are lengthening on the floor.

Justin is still holding you in his arms, stroking your back with one hand, caressing your hair with the other. He doesn't say anything.

Sobs that seem to be torn out of your chest one at a time break the silence. And there, in the dark, your forehead on Justin's neck, you start talking and tell him everything, about your mother and father, about your teacher, about Michael and Lindsay. How your mother keeps sending you prayer-pamphlets, but never a single Christmas card, how Michael pushed you into reopening Babylon because you're Brian fucking Kinney and then never invites you to dinner because Brian fucking Kinney is not worthy of his new neighbors, how Lindsay doesn't let you see Gus but still asks you to pay the tuition of his private school, how tricks and one night stands leave you so empty you fear you'll disappear, and how nobody seems to notice just how bad you feel. How all this just piled up, and Justin looked every day more distant, cancelled plans and annulled dates, and then the phone call, and you couldn't take it, because hearing words from Justin without being able to see their truthfulness in his eyes tears you up inside and terrifies you, you're scared they'd turn into lies and you couldn't bear it.

And though tremendously ashamed of yourself, you can't help bursting into tears again and telling him that you miss him terribly, that you need him. You beg him to come home. 

Justin simply holds you, and you eventually sob yourself to sleep.

\---

The gentle strokes in your hair wake you up. You're still wrapped around him. At first you think you're dreaming, then you remember the night before, and you tense up. You try to get out of the embrace, but he holds you tight and he keeps caressing you undeterred. You insist, and Justin grabs your face with both hands and kisses you, a slow and passionate kiss that makes you shiver all over, and lets you feel it, lets you feel it physically: love. You detach and you can't find the courage to look him in the eye. You sit up and look away.

"Brian."

You keep staring at the duvet.

"About all that shit… we'll fix it, Brian. You're not alone. You don't have to fight alone."

You shake your head. You don't want to hear it.

"Brian, please. Listen to me."

He takes your hand.

"I'm coming home."

You look up sharply. No. No. He can't come back like this, not for the wrong reasons, not for-

"It's not pity, Brian. And not right now. In three months."

You stare at him incredulous.

"I wanted to tell you next weekend. I already had everything organized, it was supposed to be a surprise, but… well, here goes. I found an agent who got me into a show. All mine. That's why I've been so busy lately. It's the final rush. After this, I can come home, because she'll be taking care of finding commissions and engagements… I can paint wherever I want. And that is wherever you are."

You just stare at him.

You can't believe it. 

It's like an enormous weight you didn't know you were carrying just got lifted and disappeared.

"Brian… It's what I had in mind since I left. I even gave myself a time limit. Don't tell me you really believed I wouldn't be coming back?"

You look at your hands. That's exactly what you thought.

"Brian."

He sighs.

He holds a hand to your cheek and lifts up your face. He forces you to look him in the eye.

"Brian, no words. I understand. Finally, I understand. And I have all the intention of convincing you, should it take my entire life, that I'm not going anywhere. That you're not and you'll never be alone. The only thing I've ever wanted, the only thing I've ever been sure of, is being with you."

You look into his eyes, and you don't see anything but honesty, and respect.

"Look at me. Do you believe me? Do you believe I'm telling the truth? Do you believe in what I feel?"

Blue eyes fixed on yours, full of compassion, affection… and love.

You nod.

"Brian… I'll never again say I love you. I don't want to trigger any memories, or have it be associated with everything that went on in your life. And I won't ask to hear it from you. I'm sorry I insisted so much… I had no idea. But the feeling is there. It's real and it's true, and I don't want it tarnished by stupid words and hateful memories. We deserve to be able to communicate this feeling to each other. We'll be away from each other for a few months yet, and we need to try and find a way to tell each other how we feel. Not those same words everybody uses. Words just for us, whose meaning only we can understand. What do you say?"

You're flabbergasted.

"Words… just for us?"

Your voice is rough, ends up in a whisper.

"Yes. Words that will remind you only of this moment, only of this conviction in us and certainty in the fact that after six years I still love you more than ever."

You don't know what to say. You can't take your eyes, your hands, away from him.

And you believe him. Fuck, you believe him.

Overwhelmed, you murmur.

"Still?"

Justin smiles, and your heart lights up.

"More than ever."

You throw your arms around him and hold him as tight as you can.

This time you're never letting him go.

\---

"I can't believe there's only one day left before my show."

"Relax, Sunshine."

You adjust the phone to your ear.

"Relax?? I'm a basket case! What if-"

"Enough what-ifs! Tomorrow, as soon as I get there, I'm tying you to the mattress, and   
we'll see if you don't relax!"

"Brian! Get that tongue out of your cheek, you bastard!"

You laugh.

These last three months, Justin helped you and stood by you. Kindly never mentioning how you bawled your eyes out like some weak little faggot. Well, after telling you to 

"Just get over it, you big drama queen. You needed to". 

He supported you when you refused to pay for Gus until you were allowed to see him. 

You were in Toronto in less than a day. 

He gave you the strength to talk to Michael, and distance yourself from him, finding in Emmett and Ted friends you'd never realized you had. 

He never left you alone.

Now it's your turn.

"Look, Justin, now you go to sleep like a good boy. Tomorrow you wake up, you come and get me from the airport, we fuck until opening time, we enchant the masses, you sell all your paintings and then we pack that big fat ass of yours and we bring it home. Ok?"

"My ass is not fat, you-"

"Justin! Ok?"

Sigh.

"Ok."

You empty the condom box into the trash. On the table, the medical report. Negative. You haven't tricked with anyone since Justin left last. Since before, if you think about it. And you know it's the same for him.

"Brian, what are you doing?"

"Just emptying the trash."

You've got a big surprise in mind. The wedding rings are waiting in the nightstand. You don't need vows, you don't need to stand up in front of hundreds of people and repeat overused words. But you want it to be just you, Justin, a promise. Rings to represent it, and the no-latex thing to seal it. The last thing you can give him. And you want it just as much for yourself.

God, he's coming home.

You can't believe you could be this completely happy. A happiness so… sure. On such a solid basis.

"Ok, now I'd better let you sleep. The flight leaves early tomorrow. 'Night."

You've finally found words you can believe in.

"Hey, Justin."

"Yes?"

"Still."

You can feel his smile through the phone.

Then you hear his answer.

"More than ever."

*click*

Your own words.

**Fin-**   



End file.
